by Maureen Lee
‘She saw you doing the things she’d wanted to do herself,’ Alice said sadly. ‘Anyroad, luv, come on. I was intending to spend the evening at Pearl Street meself. You’ll find the house bursting at the seams.’
It was raining steadily on the Saturday of the wedding. The sky was a miserable grey, heavy with clouds, and there wasn’t the faintest sign of blue.
Lulu emerged from her room in an even more magnificent frock than the one she’d arrived in: tangerine silk with an embroidered bodice and long, loose sleeves. Her hat was merely a circle of velvet trimmed with net.
‘You make me feel very drab,’ Alice remarked as she glanced in the hall mirror at her plain blue suit and conventional flowered hat.
‘You look lovely, Gran. But then I can never remember a time when you didn’t.’
The young woman and the much older one kissed lovingly. Alice smiled. ‘That’s a nice thing to say, but I can’t help noticing me hair’s as grey as the sky outside.’
‘You still look lovely. I hope I look as beautiful when I’ve got grey hair.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Lulu. I’ll be changing me will in your favour as soon as I get back. We’d better be off. The coach is due in Marsh Lane at half past ten and I’ve promised to show meself in the hairdresser’s before we leave.’
A coach had been hired for the bridegroom’s guests. The men were pleased. They wouldn’t need their cars so could drink as much as they liked.
Alice parked outside the Lavins’, where the door was wide open, despite the rain. She waved at Fion and Jerry who were just about to go inside – Fion looked big enough to be carrying half a dozen babies.
‘Tell your mam I’ve nipped round Opal Street. I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said to Lulu. ‘Pass us that umbrella out the glove compartment, there’s a luv.’
‘My, don’t you look a sight for sore eyes,’ Patsy O’Leary gushed when Alice entered the salon. Patsy was silver-haired now. Her daughter, Daisy, with the long, gleaming ringlets, had never gone near the stage when she grew up. Nowadays Patsy boasted endlessly about her grandchildren, all of whom were exceptionally talented in their various ways, or so she claimed. She had never ceased to get on Alice’s nerves, but she had grown fond of the woman who had worked for her for more than a quarter of a century.
She nodded at her other staff and promised to bring them a piece of wedding cake on Monday. They were mostly new. How many staff had she had over the years? How many customers? How many heads of hair had been permed, shampooed and set, trimmed, dyed a different colour?
‘Oh, someone rang about the upstairs flat,’ Patsy said. ‘A man. I don’t know where he heard about it. I told him it wasn’t available yet. It had to be decorated.’
‘I must get someone in to do it,’ Alice murmured. ‘I’ve been meaning to for ages.’ Since the last tenant left in July.
‘Well, you’ve had other things on your mind, haven’t you?’
‘Actually, in here could do with a coat of paint at the same time.’ She glanced at the walls, where the paint was peeling off in places. ‘I hadn’t noticed before. I’m usually too busy working.’ It worried her that she was letting the place fall to pieces around her ears, the way Myrtle Rimmer had done, and another, younger woman would end up taking it over, bringing it back to scratch. She suddenly laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked one of the customers.
‘Nothing. I was just having a flight of fancy, rather a morbid one.’
‘This is no time to be morbid,’ Patsy admonished. ‘Your only son’s getting married today.’
‘So he is. I’d better be going.’
Orla was wearing the cream dress Lulu had brought from America. The thin material lay over the bulge in her stomach and Alice felt concern for the tiny child curled up inside the tissue flesh, the fragile bones.
For once, Orla looked very down. Apart from Micky, Alice was the only other person there. Everyone else must be waiting in the coach. ‘I wish I was coming, Mam.’
‘So do I, Orla, luv.’
‘We’re going to have a fine ould time,’ Micky said heartily, though Alice sensed a strain of desperation in his voice. ‘On our own for a change, nice and quiet. There’s a match on the telly this avvy.’
‘Did you see the children, Mam? Our children. Didn’t our Lulu look a treat in that frock? It’s funny to think I’ll be a grandma soon. And Maisie’s wearing a mini-dress – I hope Vicky’s family aren’t too disgusted. It hardly covers her behind.’ Orla’s mouth twisted and Alice realised she was trying to laugh. ‘It’s just the sort of frock I’d have worn meself at her age. And the lads, they had new suits – I bet you can guess where they came from. They looked dead handsome. Oh, I’m so proud of me kids, Mam.’
‘And I’m proud of mine, particularly this one.’ She stroked her daughter’s face. ‘You know Cormac and Vicky are coming to say goodbye before they leave for their honeymoon, don’t you? Vicky’s keeping her wedding dress on so you can see her in all her glory – are you listening, luv?’
Orla’s eyes seemed to be floating backwards into her head. Alice touched her arm, frightened, and the eyes flickered and fixed on her mother’s face. ‘Yes, Vicky’s coming. Have a nice time, Mam. I’ll see you later.’
‘She’s been doing that all morning,’ Micky said worriedly as he showed Alice out. ‘Drifting away, as it were, not hearing.’
Alice hesitated by the door. ‘Perhaps it would be best if I stayed.’
‘Cormac will only cancel the wedding if you don’t turn up. Go and have a nice time, like Orla said.’
She managed to stay dry-eyed throughout the entire ceremony, mainly because Mrs Weatherspoon, who looked so fierce and capable when she marched into church, made a desperate show of herself, sobbing helplessly, getting louder and louder, until the noise resembled a banshee’s wail. The guests on the bridegroom’s side began to smile, the children giggled and the noise woke up six-month-old Christopher, who started to howl. Cormac could hardly keep a straight face and the bride’s shoulders heaved.
Alice was glad that what she had expected to be a touching occasion had turned into something resembling a pantomime or farce. She wasn’t exactly in the mood for tears, particularly her own.
The light mood continued throughout the afternoon at the reception, held in a modern, rather featureless hotel. Even a shamefaced Mrs Weatherspoon was able to see the funny side of things. ‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she said to Alice. ‘I really hadn’t expected to cry.’
‘I expected to cry buckets, but I think it’s the first wedding I’ve been to when I haven’t shed a tear.’
The best man, Maurice Lacey, made a far better speech than anyone thought him capable of.
Cora watched him, feeling unexpectedly proud. Maurice would never be a success like Cormac, but he’d become a solid citizen, with a lovely family, a nice house in Browning Street and a reasonably well-paid job with prospects of promotion. Pol had obviously decided a long while ago that he was a better bet than Cormac, and Pol was prettier than that Vicky by a mile. Vicky had a face like the back of a bus. It was said that all brides managed to look beautiful on their wedding day, but Vicky proved an exception to the rule. Cora wouldn’t have fancied having her for a daughter-in-law.
Alice was pleased to see Orla’s children enjoying themselves. It would do them good to have a break, forget the tragedy they had been witnessing for so many months.
At five o’clock, Cormac came over. ‘Vicky and I are leaving in a minute, Mam. We’re going to Orla’s first. Vicky will get changed upstairs, then we’ll be off to the airport and Majorca.’
‘I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind,’ Alice said with alacrity – she was pleased that Cormac had begun to address her as ‘Mam’ again lately. She could never understand why he’d stopped.
‘Why don’t you stay and enjoy the reception? It’s going on till all hours and everyone’s having a whale of a time.’
‘I think Micky
might like some company back in Pearl Street. Orla didn’t seem quite herself this morning. I’ll just say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weatherspoon.’
On the way to Bootle, Vicky sat in the back of the car, where her massive brocade crinoline dress with long puffed sleeves could be more easily accommodated. Personally, Alice thought she would have suited something much plainer so she didn’t look too much like the cake but, naturally, no one had asked for her opinion.
It was still raining steadily when the car drew up in Pearl Street – it hadn’t stopped all day. Alice jumped out and knocked on the door of number eleven and was surprised when no one answered. She was about to go round the back when Sheila Reilly came out of her house across the street.
‘Alice. I’ve been keeping a lookout for you. I’m sorry, luv, but your Orla went into a coma early this avvy. Micky rang for an ambulance and she was taken to the maternity hospital. He said to tell you the minute you came back.’
‘Ta, Sheila. I’ll go straight away.’ Alice was already on her way to her own car, which she had left parked outside the house that morning.
‘Would you like a cup of tea first?’ Sheila called. ‘Steady your nerves, like.’
‘No, thank you.’
Cormac was standing on the pavement. ‘What’s up, Mam?’
In a trembling voice she explained the situation. ‘You go off on your honeymoon, luv. Vicky will just have to get changed in the Ladies at the airport.’
‘I’ll do no such thing,’ Vicky said. She had rolled down the car window and was listening. ‘Cormac, drive Alice to the hospital. It doesn’t matter about us.’
‘Get in, Mam,’ Cormac said in a voice that brooked no argument and Alice did as she was told.
Micky was walking up and down the hospital corridor like a wild man. He looked as if he had, quite literally, been trying to tear out his hair. His eyes were mad with grief and Alice wondered if he’d lost his reason.
Mr and Mrs Lavin were there, Mrs Lavin sobbing uncontrollably. Alice immediately assumed the worst. Her body seemed to seize up, she could hardly speak.
‘What’s happened?’ she croaked.
‘Orla’s having a Caesarean at this very minute,’ Micky said raggedly. ‘They don’t hold out much hope for the baby. As for Orla, they think this is the end.’
‘Aah!’ The cry came from her very soul. Orla had invested every shred of herself into this baby. If it died, it would all have been in vain.
Cormac had been searching for somewhere to park. He came rushing up with Vicky, still in her bridal gown. Mr Lavin explained the situation and went to fetch everyone cups of tea.
They had to wait over an hour for news, though it felt more like twenty. No one spoke. It was almost seven o’clock before a nurse appeared. Alice searched her face, trying to discern from her expression if the news was good or bad. She didn’t look particularly grave.
‘The baby has arrived safely,’ she announced and there was a concerted sigh of relief. ‘It’s a girl and she appears to be in surprisingly good shape, though she’s only tiny, barely three pounds. She’s gone straight into an incubator. Her dad can see her later on, but no one else, I’m afraid. As far as the mother is concerned, I’m sorry to say there’s no change.’
Micky made no sound. He hid his face in his hands for several seconds. When he removed them his face was pale, but he was himself again. His eyes were normal. ‘Orla will be pleased about the baby,’ he said. For the first time he seemed to notice Cormac and Vicky. ‘Isn’t it time you two were on your way?’
‘We’d sooner stay.’ Vicky’s dress rustled as she went over and embraced him and Alice thought she’d make a fine Lacey. She was pleased and proud the girl was now a member of the family.
‘And I’d sooner you went,’ Micky growled. ‘If Orla was asked for her opinion, she’d say the same.’
‘I think so too,’ Alice put in. ‘There’s enough of us here.’
‘Would you like me to ring the reception, tell the children?’ Cormac asked.
‘No, leave the kids be.’ Micky shook his head. ‘Let them enjoy themselves as long as possible. They’ll know soon enough. Tara, Cormac. Tara, Vicky. Good luck.’
The newly married couple left, albeit reluctantly. Cormac said he’d telephone as soon as they reached Majorca.
Mr Lavin left to fetch more tea. A young woman walked past in a dressing gown, heavily pregnant. ‘I’m just going for a walk,’ she said, ‘to try and bring it on. It stopped coming the minute we got here.’
Another nurse arrived and said Micky could see his new daughter. He came back after only a few minutes. ‘She’s so tiny,’ he said gruffly, holding out his hands about twelve inches apart. ‘Pretty, like a doll, with lots of fair hair.’
Mrs Lavin began to cry again. Voices and footsteps could be heard approaching and Orla’s children came hurrying round the corner, their faces anxious, their eyes bright with fear.
‘How’s Mum?’
‘Can we see her?’
‘Has she had the baby?’
‘Are you all right, Dad? You should have told us.’
They crowded round their father. Micky hugged them one by one and tried to answer their questions. It seemed to Alice that he’d aged since morning, when she could have sworn he didn’t have a stoop. His features were blurred. He looked middle-aged. For some reason she remembered the desperate young man who’d called at the house in Amber Street all those years ago asking for Orla who was hiding upstairs and Alice was obliged to tell him lies, send him packing, though she’d tried to do it kindly.
She left the group, feeling in the way. No one had taken a blind bit of notice of her, which she found quite understandable. No doubt Fion and Maeve would arrive shortly – they’d probably taken the children home first. She found a padded bench in a quiet corridor by the closed X-ray department where she sat, feeling extremely alone, wondering how John would have felt if he were there, knowing his favourite daughter was dying. Well, once she’d been his favourite. Perhaps another daughter had taken her place, just as another woman had taken hers.
‘Alice! We’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
It was Billy Lacey accompanied by Cora. He sat beside her and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Are you all right, luv? You look dead lonely all by yourself.’
‘I’m fine.’ Alice sniffed. ‘Just felt like a bit of peace and quiet.’
‘I don’t blame you. That Mrs Lavin doesn’t half go on.’
Cora sat opposite. She saw Alice grit her teeth, as if determined not to cry, unlike that other woman, Micky’s mam, who was making a terrible scene, not helping things a bit. It struck her that Alice had never made a scene, not even when John had left. She’d just gritted her teeth, like she’d done now, and got on with things. When you thought about it, John Lacey hadn’t been much of a catch, not compared with Billy who’d stuck by his wife through thick and thin. It had taken a long time for the penny to drop, but Cora realised she’d married the right brother after all. As for Cormac, Alice was welcome to him and his ugly missus. She’d prefer Maurice and Pol any day.
Thinking about it, Cora couldn’t remember anything that Alice had done to spite her. In fact, she’d only tried to help. It was Alice who’d collected her from the police station that time, then given her a job even after she’d heard about the pensions Cora had been fraudulently collecting all them years.
There was a funny sensation in her stomach as she leaned over and patted Alice on the knee. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, luv,’ she said consolingly, even though she knew, and Alice and Billy knew, that it wasn’t.
Then Billy stood up and slapped his thigh. ‘Come on, ould girl. We’d better start making tracks. It’s still raining cats and dogs outside and I don’t know if there’s any buses running at this time of night.’
Cora stood up and linked his arm, and they went home together to Bootle.
During the long night that followed the relatives were allowed to see the patient once, a f
ew at a time. Alice went in with Fion and Maeve.
Orla was lying peacefully still, long, dark lashes resting on her white cheeks, lips curved in a slight smile. Fion gasped. ‘I’ve never seen her look so beautiful!’
‘She looks about sixteen,’ Maeve whispered.
Alice said nothing. She bent and kissed the cold, smiling lips, and wondered if she would ever kiss them again.
In a hotel room in Majorca, which smelt of strangely scented blossoms and chloride from the pool below, and where the blue, luminous water of the Mediterranean could be seen from the balcony, Cormac put down the phone. ‘No change.’ He sighed. ‘There are times when I wish I smoked. I have a feeling a cigarette would be a great help at the moment.’
‘It would also be very bad for you,’ Vicky said primly.
‘I’ve heard there are people around who say the same thing about sex.’
‘Oh!’ Vicky looked nonplussed. She was sitting up in bed with nothing on, a sheet chastely covering her breasts – she’d only been a married woman for a matter of hours and nudity took some getting used to. ‘Oh, they can’t possibly be right about sex.’
Cormac grinned. ‘If those people are so very wrong – about sex, that is – then I assume it would be OK if we did it again.’
She blushed. ‘It would be OK as far as I’m concerned.’
‘As we are the only two people whose opinion matters, I suggest we do it immediately, though it will be necessary for you to remove that sheet.’
Vicky removed the sheet.
The hospital was very quiet. Occasionally a baby cried, there were footsteps in other corridors far away. Outside the room where Orla lay, her husband, her children, her sisters and her mother hardly spoke, and when they did it was in subdued murmurs. Mr and Mrs Lavin had gone home long ago.
Fion felt ashamed of how much she longed to be at home, under her own roof, with Jerry’s warm body in bed beside her and the kids safely asleep not far away. They weren’t the sort of couple who lived in each other’s pockets, but she badly missed her husband right now. She squeezed the hand of Maeve, sitting beside her.